Exit Wounds (13 page)

“I’d like to beat the crap out of the guy who hurt that dog,” Butch said after she left. “I don’t think she actually hates men. She’s just scared to death of us—probably with good reason.”

Jenny came into the kitchen about then, rubbing her eyes and frowning. “What’s happening?” she asked. “Why’s everyone up so early?”

“It’s due to your mother’s delicate condition,” Butch said with a chuckle. “I have a feeling we’re all going to be early birds for the next little while.”

It was one of the few times ever that Sheriff Brady beat Frank Montoya into the office. When he came to see her a little later, he carried his usual cup of coffee. Again, the very smell of it made Joanna turn green.

If I’d only waited long enough to smell the coffee this morning,
Joanna thought miserably,
we wouldn’t have had to waste any money on the pregnancy test. Do you suppose that’s what Dear Abby meant when she said, “Wake up and smell the coffee”?

“Is something the matter?” Frank asked. “You don’t look very well.”

“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s nothing that having a baby won’t fix.”

“Oh, that,” Frank said. “I see.” But, since he was a confirmed bachelor, Joanna wasn’t convinced he did.

“What’s on the agenda today?” she asked. “Did you have any luck tracking down Marla Gomez?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. It wasn’t pretty.”

“She was upset?”

“I’ll say, and who could blame her? The thing is, she wanted to know what we’d done to Richard. I told her we hadn’t done a thing, but she didn’t believe it. Her father was there, and he wasn’t much help, either. You do know who the father is, don’t you?” Frank asked. “Gabriel Gomez?”

“I heard the name last night,” Joanna said. “It sounded familiar, but at the time I couldn’t place it. Who is he?”

“Gabriel Gomez is an attorney in Douglas. Specializes in immigration law. By the time I left their house last night, he was threatening to sue the department for wrongful death on his daughter’s behalf.”

“How can they do that?” Joanna asked. “We still don’t have any idea of who or what killed Richard Osmond.”

“You know that, and I know that, boss, but Papa Gomez is an attorney. You don’t really expect him to wait around for the dust to settle, do you? His strategy is to sue first and ask questions later.”

“Great,” Joanna said. “That’s just what I need to hear first thing in the morning.”

The door to Joanna’s office shot open and Joanna’s secretary bounded into the room, brandishing a copy of
The Bisbee Bee
over her head.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Were you planning on keeping it a secret?”

“Keeping what a secret?” Joanna asked.

“That you’re expecting. It says so right here. In Marliss Shackleford’s column.”

Kristin held out the paper, and Joanna snatched it out of her hand.
The Bee
was already opened to Marliss’s column, “Bisbee Buzzings.” For Frank Montoya’s benefit, Joanna read the item aloud.

An unnamed source close to Cochise County Sheriff Joanna Brady tells us that the sheriff and her husband, Butch Dixon, could be in a family way. There’s no telling how the potential patter of little feet will affect Sheriff Brady’s current bid for reelection against former Cochise county deputy sheriff, Kenneth W. Galloway.

Motherhood, apple pie, and baby showers could get in the way of politics as usual, but at this point Sheriff Brady evidently has no intention of dropping out of the race.

That was all there was to the item, but by the time Joanna finished reading the two paragraphs, her voice was choked with fury. So much for her plan of giving Marliss Shackleford the kind of well-aimed, exclusive piece that might have allowed Joanna to control both timing and content. Here it was, set loose into the world in a way that was bound to do as much damage as possible. The general public would probably assume, just as Kristin Gregovich had, that Joanna had intended to keep her condition secret up to election day or even longer.

Livid, Joanna turned her ire on Frank. “You didn’t give her this, did you?” she demanded.

“No, ma’am,” Frank said. “Absolutely not. I didn’t breathe a word of it.”

“I didn’t think so. Unnamed source, my ass. It has to be my mother, then. Eleanor’s the only other person Butch and I have told. Too bad for me, she and Marliss have always been the best of pals.”

With words of congratulation dying on her lips, Kristin retreated from Joanna’s office. Frank Montoya followed, closing the door behind him as he went. The door was barely shut by the time Joanna had the telephone receiver in hand and was dialing George and Eleanor Winfield’s number.

“Mother?” Joanna said stiffly as soon as Eleanor answered the phone.

“My goodness, you’re certainly up and about early this morning,” Eleanor responded brightly.

“I’m calling about the piece in the paper,” Joanna said, struggling to keep her voice level.

“What piece is that?” Eleanor asked. “I brought the paper in from the porch, but I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I usually save that for after George goes to work.”

“You know what piece I mean,” Joanna retorted. “It’s the part of Marliss Shackleford’s column that talks about my being pregnant. How could you do that to me, Mother? How could you?”

“Do what?”

Eleanor’s tone of affronted innocence made Joanna that much angrier. “Come on, Mother. Don’t play games. How could you go behind my back and talk to Marliss that way? Other than Jenny, you and George were the first people Butch and I told. Did it ever occur to you that maybe we’d like the opportunity of sharing the news with a few other people in person before you hauled off and put it in the paper for everyone to read over their morning coffee?”

“Before
I
put it in the paper?” Eleanor repeated.

“Yes. It’s this morning’s lead item in Marliss Shackleford’s column.”

“So you think that as soon as I got home from your house last night, I called Marliss and told her about this?” Eleanor demanded. “You think the idea of my daughter being pregnant and running for office at the same time is something I’d be in a hurry to brag about?”

“Are you saying you didn’t tell her?” Joanna asked.

“Of course I didn’t tell her,” Eleanor declared heatedly.

“Who did, then?”

“How should I know?” Eleanor returned. “All I can say is, Marliss didn’t get it from me. It hurts me to hear you’d even
think
such a thing.”

“You and Marliss have always been good friends,” Joanna pointed out.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to go to her to air our family’s dirty laundry.”

That brought Joanna up short. “It’s not dirty,” she said finally. “Remember, Mother? I’m a married woman. My husband and I are expecting a baby together.”

“Then what are you so upset about?” Eleanor shot back. “Why are you calling me and giving me such a load of grief over it? Now, if you don’t mind, I believe I’ll get back to my breakfast. Good-bye.”

With that, Eleanor hung up, leaving Joanna sputtering into thin air. Moments later, Joanna slammed her own phone back into its cradle. That was the thing that made Eleanor Lathrop Winfield so damned exasperating. No matter what happened, Joanna was
always
in the wrong.

Still seething, Joanna picked up the paper and turned it back to the front page. There she found a long article on the Carol Mossman murder, and a short piece about an unidentified inmate of the Cochise County Jail who had been found dead in the recreation yard. The paper had been printed late enough the previous night for the item about Joanna’s pregnancy to make it into Marliss Shackleford’s column. Wouldn’t it also have been late enough to mention the jail fatality by name as well?

Maybe Mother didn’t leak the story to Marliss after all,
Joanna thought.
But if not Eleanor, who?

Joanna was still staring unseeing at the newspaper when there was a discreet tap on her door. She looked up to see Kristin peeking warily into the room.

“It’s all right,” Joanna said. “It’s safe to come in. I’ve stopped throwing things now.”

Kristin came forward apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff Brady,” she began. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joanna said. “I was surprised, is all. I didn’t expect the news to show up in the paper quite this soon. It’s like somebody having to read about the death of a family member before we have a chance to do a next-of-kin notification. There are a few other people I would have preferred hearing the news from me in person rather than having them read about it in the paper.”

“Believe me,” Kristin said, “I understand about that, but you are happy about this, aren’t you, Sheriff Brady? Not about it being in the newspaper, but about the baby, I mean?”

“Of course I’m happy,” Joanna answered. “It’s a surprise, but Butch and I are both delighted. The lesson here is, no matter what the clever ads say on television, the Pill’s not one hundred percent foolproof, especially if you happen to skip one at just the wrong time.”

Which is probably exactly what happened,
Joanna thought, although she didn’t say it aloud.

“Oh,” Kristin said. “That’s okay then. It’s just that you were so upset…”

“I’m still upset,” Joanna corrected. “Marliss could have had the common decency to check out the story with me before she put the piece in the paper. And if Madame
Bisbee Bee
should happen to show her face around here anytime today, you might advise her to steer clear of me. If she gets too close, I might be tempted to pull out a handful of her peroxided locks. As long as I can’t see her, I’ll be fine.”

Joanna paused and, for the first time, noticed that Kristin was carrying several handwritten messages. “So what’s up?” Joanna added.

Kristin nodded self-consciously. “Detective Carpenter says he’s going to Tucson for the Osmond autopsy. He’ll be gone most of the morning. Also, Edith Mossman is coming here for an interview with Detective Carbajal. Ernie says Jaime will probably need someone to sit in on that with him.”

“All right,” Joanna said. “If Frank Montoya can’t do it, I will. Anything else?”

“There were two other calls that came in while you were on the phone. One was from Reverend Maculyea and the other from Eva Lou Brady. I told them you’d call them back.”

Damn Marliss Shackleford anyway!
Joanna thought savagely. She said, “I will call them back, Kristin, so when you go back out, please shut the door.”

For the next half hour, Joanna made a series of calls. Conversations that should have been happy ones announcing her pregnancy ended up being chores instead. Joanna spent most of the time on the phone apologizing to one person after another, including her best friend, Marianne Maculyea, and her former mother-in-law, Eva Lou Brady, both of whom had already read Marliss’s column. By the time Joanna’s chief deputy returned for the morning briefing, Joanna welcomed the interruption.

“We’ll have to make this quick,” Frank told her. “I’ve got a news conference scheduled in a little while. It’s primarily to go over the Richard Osmond situation, but if they ask, what do you want me to say about you?”

“About my delicate condition?” Joanna asked.

Frank nodded.

“Tell them I have no intention of dropping out of the race for sheriff. If daddies can be soldiers and sheriffs, so can mommies.”

“Do you think that’s the best way to couch it?” Frank asked. “With potential voters, I mean.”

“It may not be the best way,” Joanna told him. “But it’s my way, and you can quote me on that. If you’re going to be busy with a press conference, who’s going to back up Jaime Carbajal when he questions Edith Mossman?”

“I guess it’s up to you,” Frank said.

Joanna nodded. “Okay. Speaking of Edith Mossman, how’s she getting here from Sierra Vista? We’re not expecting her to catch a cab from there to Bisbee, are we?”

“No,” Frank said. “I believe one of Edith’s granddaughters—the one who lives here in town—is picking her up and bringing her to the department.”

“Good,” Joanna said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

When the briefing ended, Frank left her office and Kristin entered once more, bringing with her that day’s first load of correspondence. Joanna had managed to get a good start on dealing with the paper jungle when her intercom buzzed. “Sheriff Brady?” Kristin said. “Mrs. Mossman is here.”

“She and Detective Carbajal are in the conference room?” Joanna asked.

“Right.”

“Okay,” Joanna said. “I’ll be right there.”

To reach the conference room, Joanna had to walk past Kristin’s desk and through a small reception area. Seated on the love seat, thumbing through an old copy of
Arizona Highways,
was a large woman with mousy brown hair who looked to be about Joanna’s age. She wore shorts, an oversize T-shirt, and thongs.

It was only midmorning, but already the office was heating up. Dressed in her uniform, Joanna couldn’t help but envy the other woman’s casual attire, but not the strained expression on her face. It was the despairing, empty look in the eyes that gave Joanna her first clue. She had seen that look far too many times before in the eyes of grieving survivors—the people left behind in the wake of violent and unexpected deaths. This had to be one of Carol Mossman’s sisters.

Joanna stopped in front of the love seat and held out her hand. “I’m Sheriff Brady,” she said. “You must be Stella Adams.”

“Yes,” the woman murmured softly. “Yes, I am.”

“Please accept my condolences.”

Stella nodded. “Thank you,” she replied.

“And thank you for bringing your grandmother here for the interview. We’re a little shorthanded at the moment. Otherwise I would have sent one of my detectives to bring her into town.”

“It was no trouble,” Stella said.

Just then a young boy of fifteen or sixteen came sauntering down the hall. The crotch of his pants hung almost to his knees. So did the tail of his shirt. A scraggily thin bristle of goatee protruded from the bottom of his chin. Stella Adams gave the new arrival a hard look. “There you are, Nathan,” she said. “What took you so long? I thought I told you to park the car and come right inside.”